


I Wanted You To Know That I Am Ready To Go

by Velocity_Owl87



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings, Introspection, No Dialogue, Non-Explicit Sex, Sharing a Room, Slow Build, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velocity_Owl87/pseuds/Velocity_Owl87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ressler is all too aware that things between himself and Liz are out of sync and there are too many obstacles in the way to move forward. </p><p>Or are there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanted You To Know That I Am Ready To Go

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short piece that is an observation/introspection that Ressler does in regards to Liz and the changed situations of the second season. It's not quite cannon and it's not quite an AU and it falls somewhere in between. I think I wrote this due to the secrets that both of them are hiding from each other and they both know, but still trust each other. They have a connection there and it's just a matter of it finally clicking between them. 
> 
> Title from Childish Gambino's "Heartbeat". Edited, but if mistakes remain, they will be fixed.

There’s distance between them now and Ressler watches Liz and can’t figure out exactly how to breach it. It’s not the same as it was with Audrey, the gradual drifting away, the missed calls, the sad glances, the pressing of lipsticked lips before a door finally closes. Late nights calls and the smell of perfume lingering. A stray hairpin on the sink. Cold and stale bedsheets and the all too sweet siren call of whiskey not for the taste, but for the oblivion.

Except that with Liz, the whiskey is shared. The calls are received and the bed is crumpled, but never cold.

And the wall of secrets slowly, but surely, grows between them until they are staring at each other with unspoken questions and wounded looks as the bricks keep being placed on it. He knows he’s got a problem with the pills, the way he’s been relying on them to get through the rough patches. He has to get clean. He has to talk.

Liz has her own gaping wounds badly stitched together and a secret that she’s great at hiding, but the cracks are starting to widen. Especially now that Berlin is an a face, a goal and not an elusive ghost haunting the edges of what her life was. He knows that she’s hiding something, with all the hotel jumping and the paperwork she totes around. She knows he’s hiding something, ignoring the way the corners of his mouth get white at a certain hour and how he excuses himself and comes back with a glaze in his eye and a purpose in his step.

They’re holding on.

But only just.

They can’t address it. Not yet. Not with Reddington and his secrets and his endgame and his web encompassing a larger sphere than any of them had even guessed at. Not when he and Berlin are involved in a chess game that Ressler is all too aware he’s on the periphery of. Maybe Liz is closer, two spots into the board, but he won’t overestimate himself.

He’s already lost too much the last time he was sure he knew the score.

So they stay in inertia.

And then Berlin is dead and in a parallel to the time he found Liz in the Stewmaker’s cabin, he finds her again and covers her up. She is aware of it. Ressler knows that by the way she chews on the corner of her mouth once the danger has passed and both of them are in a safe place.

It’s not his apartment and it’s not a cheap motel room. It’s a middle-priced room and they’ve got take-out and files in the semblance of work. There’s a bottle of wine and two actual glasses, as per Liz’s request. Reddington’s hands are nowhere near this arrangement, but Ressler doesn’t doubt that his fingerprints are over this arrangement in some way.

He doesn’t mind it as much as he should. But Ressler is all too aware of the implicit warning and blessing that the room is to him. He doesn’t need to be told twice that it would be a bad idea to play with Liz’s feelings. Not after Tom and all of the cons that he’s pulled on her in the past.  He’s still raw over Audrey. He figures that Liz would be the same over Tom. At least, as far as he knows, Audrey truly loved him and wasn’t pretending in the name of an assignment.

So he waits for things to develop as well as they possibly can in the meantime.

He’s already showered and there are files on the desk. He’s looking through one as he waits for Liz to get clean and get pulled together as much as she can be after that case.

She finally comes out, dressed, but with no make up and he can tell she’s calm and ready to put the incident behind her. Or maybe she’s already compartmentalized, like they all learned to do. Despite that, he can tell that there’s an edge to her still. A bit of brittleness that makes him not react and let her take the lead.

He puts the file down and watches as she comes to sit down on the bed. She looks around and bites her lip as if she was unsure of what she wants to say or do next. Ressler sits up slowly, his face neutral as he waits for her to make the move.

It doesn’t take long.

She comes closer and wraps her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

He doesn’t hesitate this time to wrap his arms around her this time and pull her close, their bodies flush against each other. She’s cold and slightly shivering and he grabs the cover he pushed aside earlier and wraps it around them both. She murmurs something and pulls away with just enough distance to look at him, really look at him before she kisses him.

He lets her take the lead after that. Whatever she wants.

He doesn’t remember guessing that there was this side of her. Maybe she thinks the same of him as they strip and she gets on top of him. She’s not a talker, but she’s not quiet either and it’s a challenge, keeping up with her once the awkwardness goes. They even laugh a few times and Ressler is hard pressed to remember when was the last time that he had that much fun in bed.

Or the last time he laughed and it wasn’t laced with bitterness and grief.

Her voice is soft and lighter, the strain of whatever it was that she was hiding diminished, but he is sure that it is on its way to being gone.

The wall has cracks in it now.

They can start again.


End file.
